


The Sun In His Wings

by ThunderOnTheSea



Category: Game of Thrones (TV), The Fosters (TV 2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Archery, Death, Dorne, Game of Thrones AU, Homophobia, Jonnor - Freeform, Jude cant swim, Jude is a major wreck, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Probably sex at some point, Swordfighting, The Eyrie, War, Will add more characters as they are introduced, and an attention seeker, bastard!connor, i cant tag, magic probably, maybe dragons?, westoros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6864196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderOnTheSea/pseuds/ThunderOnTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As war stirs in the underbelly of Westoros, the Aryn's send their youngest born heir Jude to be fostered at Dorne in order for him to be used as a pawn in their own games. In Dorne however, Connor has a much different game to play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Validation

"Lady Justina of House Lannister, born during the short winter. Pale in Skin, light of hair." Jude repeated to his Maester. "Widow of the late King Malcom, with whom she bared one son. Now Queen Regent until Prince Wyatt Lannister comes of age."

Jude was utterly bored. He had read this book almost a hundred times, but Maester Timothy insisted he learn all the houses and there current rulers if he was ever to become a great knight. In truth, Jude did not care for the occupants of Westoros' great Houses nor did he care for their reputations for successful breeding and less successful marital affairs.

"Come now Jude, repetition is the art of knowledge. And knowledge is what makes a person powerful!".

"If that were so, then why must my father force me to participate in Brandon's sword practice?"

Timothy gave the young nobleman a dubious look. "Because some men are immature enough to value a man's skill in battle over the elegance of their minds." The Maester gave Jude a stern glance, a look that declared the conversation over. He had not meant for his words to sound so distasteful. The blunt statement seemingly went over well with Jude, as his familiar arched eyebrows lowered to rest on his somewhat satisfied eyes. Timothy may be the smartest man to tend to the people of the Vale, but even he had to be weary of the quick thinking Lord he tutored in the mornings. Even though Jude wore a trusting smile, one must never be to careful about who they spoke too. Jude's smile may a trusting one, but Timothy knew the boys eyes spoke a lot louder than the phrases and sentences that were drummed into the Lord over the years.

"Maester Timothy?" Called Jude.

"No you may not leave for breakfast."

"No, no Maester it isnt that-"

"My Lord, it is quite obvious that you are tired of learning the names and the Words of the houses. That was quite clear to me three weeks ago."

"Honestly, its not that." Jude's mouth was that of a line in a book from there, his next question could be anything at all. But to Timothy his eyes spoke a different story. They were as sharp as the mountains he lived atop of, and ready to pierce through any topic he so wished. "It's just that I was thinking over what you said earlier, about minds being more powerful than the swords."

_Fuck_ , thought the nervous Maester

"Does that mean you perceive my mind just as deadly as any sword or knife Brandon uses?" Jude's true meaning was clear. He wanted to be praised, to appear just as valuable as his first-born brother. Timothy sincerely believed that was all the young Lord truly wanted, to be valuable. Which, in his fathers eyes, he was not.

The trap was flawlessly set by Jude. He knew his words mattered, even if his capability with a longsword did not. With no measurable talent in battle and being no great strategist, Jude quickly discovered that his fortune to be born into a noble house gave his torrent of well thought out and seemingly innocent queries a violent sting. A sting which had easily poisoned various servants and tutors that worked for the House Aryn.

Maester Timothy took a subtle breath. He knew that to disregard Jude was a foward path to the moongate, a path that would start the minute Jude stepped foot into the Great Keep in order to declare his Maester's treason before his Lord and Lady parents. If he dared do such a thing.

"With substantial tutoring and dedication to your studies, My Lord you could talk yourself out of Wildfire."

 

_\|/_

 

The courtyards shone with light from the warming sun and rang with clangs of Brandon and his various sparing partners. Nothing was unusual, Jude gathered. This was the most normal scene to him as he walked through the halls after his tutoring with Maester Timothy. His tongue raced with silent speculations of the Maester's choice words. Could his tongue ever reveal his enemies blood just like that of Brandon's longsword? It was doubtful. But Jude knew for a certainty that blood was not the only treasure his enemies could spill for him.

As his well trained but scrawny long legs carried him automatically through the courtyards, he made his way towards the balcony. Past the knights who's broad and well defined chests never went unnoticed by the young Lord. The many knights under his fathers garrison never paid Jude anything but the necessary attention, he was no talent, so why bother? But he noticed them. Every day as he glided through the courtyards he noticed every single one of them. He noticed how their eyes would linger onto various serving girls as they passed by, and how quickly after the girls had vanished would their eyes wander back onto the common scene of Brandon winning his sparing match. Although unintentional, Jude often heard the rumours and court gossip he was not privy too. 

"Jude!" cried out Lena, his mothers personal handmaiden. She quickly paced over to him with arms spread open for him to embrace. He always received her warm hugs eagerly, she was one of the few hens he trusted in a nest full of Vulchers. She was also one particular canary with which Jude's song would never pass her lips. The darker skinned woman coiled the young Lord in her velvet clad arms. "How are you on his gorgeous Spring morning my Lord?", she cooed.

"I'm fine, the Maester seems to have me thinking like an arrow today though", claimed the thoughtful Jude.

"Well then I'm certain he's doing his job correctly!", sang the optimistic Lena. Despite her kidnapping to the Eyrie many years before Jude's birth, she always graced the halls with glowing optimism and radiance that was infectious with the castles residents.

Jude looked at her with restless eyes. Is the Maester's job being done correctly when he somewhat accused his Warden father of being immature with his favouritism of swordplay? Surely that was not what the wise Timothy meant, but words fallen without thought often seemed to be the most sincere. In Jude's calculating mind that is.

"Come now sweet boy, let's go to the Godswood. It is on days such as this that we must be thankful."

Lena took Jude's wrist with a familiar confidence that most servants would not dare to use. Her actions however, were comforting to Jude. They let his mind slip away from the obscure questions he was often plagued with. After her years of service in the House, Lena had become the closest thing to family Jude and any of the other Aryn children had outside The Vale. She always kept their council, regardless of what the three teenagers told her. And her relationship to their mother was the most heart-warming aspect of all. Stef did not easily let outsiders past her walls, let alone into her quarters. But if the wardens wife could be calmed and pampered by the curly haired woman's sunny disposition, then the three children brought Lena into their secretive folds easily.

After a short stroll towards the Godswood both Lena and Jude arrived at their destination with a smiles on their faces, a rarity for Jude.

"Mother we thank you for the fortune brought to us"

"Stranger we thank you for giving us new ideals and new truths"

_New truths indeed_ , thought Jude. Lena gave him a scalding look, as if she knew he wasn't paying attention. He bent his head down to listen too Lena's prayers. Jude was adamant that if ever Lena tired of seeing to the needs of his family, Lena should take the faith and become one of the Sevens many Septas.

Jude knelt, listening to Lena's devotion with less than devout ears. Was Jude religious? He wasn't sure. He believed in one thing for sure; he believed in life. His life.

Still, Lena's hearty prayers and wishes always remained inside Jude. He would remember Lena's prayers for a good harvest during his evening meals, her prayers for good weather and a long summer when he stared up at the white of the full moon. All of them, all of Lena's prayers remained unspoken in Jude's mind. They were the needs of the many, and the needs of the few combined. He would remember each and every one of them, because for Jude, a prayer was as powerful as any arrow. And an arrow fired at the right time, could bring many to their knees.

That was Jude's mission, like any good archer must do, he must fill his quiver with arrows. And he must learn to fire his at just the right time for his desired affect.

 

_\|/_

 

As was the tradition in the Aryn family, all members ate their evening meal together. Whether they liked it or not. Sustaining a stable family pretence was crucial in order for their reputation to be upheld. It was the one time in the day when each of them had to be around one another. Usually this was never a dead any of them found to be unpleasant, sometimes even enjoyable. Callie and Brandon often found time for one another outside their lessons and obligatory duties. Stef spent most of her time with Lena, occasionally seeking her youngest born for her to manifest her parental wishes. Mike was seldom seen amongst the family, more comfortable with his advisor's or with the knights instructing them how to patrol the Eyrie or how to instruct Brandon most efficiently. So overall, when the group did meet for the evening meal, the activity was sustained by chatter and court gossip. Jude however, was always on edge at his family table.

 

For Jude to be in the same room as his father always put the fourteen year old in a nervous and dim mood. He never knew what to say around the Aryn patriarch, scared of the repercussions of speaking out of line.

Jude only felt his fathers _repercussions_ once. When he was nine years old, and his sitting in on his first council meeting. The meeting was called on account of a villager, who's named Jude could not recall, who had stolen a crate of vegetables meant for the previous Maester's remedies. Mike had called for the villager to "fly". Jude on the other hand cried out for mercy for the villager. However much Jude had whimpered and protested, the Warden of the East would not relent. The villager flew. And when Jude returned to his quarters hours after the events unfolded, his father reminded him that their was no place for mercy in the court, or in the family.

Jude had learned from then on the power that words held. And developed the skill too avoid Mike Aryn and his repercussions whenever he had the chance.

Still, Jude felt a merciless wisp of unease wafting throughout the hall. The court must be having secret problems, although that was not a song Jude had heard recently. If ever.

"Jude my son how are your studies coming along?" asked Stef out of the blue, only half interested.

Timothy, an uncommon guest at the meal, looked completely ignorant of the matters discussed. As if he would rather be in the midst of conversing with the characters in his historic fables than be sat with his high-born hosts. No doubt he was only in attendance to win favour with Mike.

Jude looked at his tutor, eyeing him cautiously, "they're coming along nicely". This was no topic he wished to discuss at the one time he saw his entire immediate family.

" 'Nicely' means he doesn't give a shit. If that wasn't clear mother." Heckled Callie at the opposite side of the table to Jude.

Brandon joined the assault as soon as the downpour began. It was one of his favourite pass times after all. "He'd probably rather be day dreaming over all the knights in the Seven Kingdoms than listen to Tim drawl on and on about how important our great great aunt's ancestor's neighbour was".

The eldest Aryn siblings sat inches away from each other giggling at Jude's expense. Leaving him with no way of defence other than Lena, who's attendance at the table was astonishing being that Timothy was also there.

"Hush now you two," scalded Lena. With no guidance from the Stef or Mike, parenting the children had fallen on the handmaiden. "You should support your brother. He's family." Lena was gazing at Stef. "And family is one of the most important aspects of life".

Jude was thankful. The statement seemed to have the desired affect on Callie and Brandon, who could only look down at their plates with guilty written all over their faces.

The atmosphere at the table had taken a sudden change. It was tense. Suspicious even. There was a knife hidden within one of his families sleeves, and Jude knew it. And he was instantly proven correct on who his suspicions fell upon. Across the table, at the head chair, Mike scoffed.

"Family," The look on the fathers face told it all. "Family does not win wars! And it most certainly did not help the Lannister's win the most recent one! Their family united approach did not help them win the Iron Throne!"

"Mike, please... not now" Stef pleaded. This was the first time in a long time her voice was totally engaged in a discussion at the table.

"Shut up you tired old dyke!" Her husband ordered. Ale or wine was not needed to unsheathe the knife he had hidden, his aura of dominance did that for him. "The Kingdom's are not happy with how the war ended; nor are they happy about our absence from it. Do not fool yourself to think the Stark's or the Tully's have forgotten our objection to raise our banners. They have not!"

"Mike my dearest this isn't the time. Please don't do this now!"

"I won't tell you again woman." Mike raised his fat finger to Stef's face, his word final.

"If the Kingdom's keep this unrest alive another rebellion is surely close to rising. Now Brandon, Callie, the two of you were only babes in your mothers arms when the war broke out, and Jude only seed in my cock. Only to be born during the final year of the war."

"Get to the point father." Callie called, with boredom on her lips. She'd suffered through hundreds of Mike's lectures, and never had she felt his repercussions. Only she would dare take that tone with Mike Aryn. She was his favourite.

"The point, Callie, is that if a war breaks out like I sincerely feel it will, we shall not be given the option to hide from it. We shall need allies. The Martell's for certain. They will side with us, I assure it."

"And how could you possibly assure it?" Brandon asked, completely engrossed in the conversation.

"Jude." Mike looked at his youngest with a face that Jude could not decipher. A look of hope, mixed with daring strategy. The look a chess player would give as he moves his pawn into perfect position. Jude did not like it.

"Jude is going to Dorne to be fostered by the Martell's."


	2. Little Lamb

Jude could not remember the last time he had left the comfort of The Eyrie. It was likely he had never done so. Mike had always elected for Brandon to accompany him on his visits to neighbouring lands.

  
That was fine for Jude. Any more time spent with his father, the moe Jude felt the oncoming stampede of his fathers wrath. And with no songs to sing or tales to trap him with, he would be defenceless in the company of Mike Aryn. And being the lamb in a lion's den was not an invitation Jude was likely to accept.

  
He left that for his siblings. Despite the cruel truth that the invitations Callie and Brandon would receive would more often happen to be the lion cubs being taught to hunt the lamb.

  
There was less grass than Jude thought there would be. The books Timothy had assigned him had always been certain of rolling grassland with curious animals dancing across the expanse. But looking out of the carriage, the animals Jude saw were no less common than those he saw atop his mountain home. And the little grass that had managed to grow was withered and stale. It seemed as if grass didn't grow greener on the other side as he was promised.

  
This was the land that many lambs lost their lives on. And it showed harshly in the random indentations on the land throughout Jude's view.

  
The carriage, vibrating as it made its way across the unstable terrain, teetered side to side as Jude clawed the woollen cushions and silk throws trying to maintain his seating. They were headed towards the coast, only two days travel from the siren's lair that was the Aryn's domain. Jude's home environment had never been a joyous experience for him, but if it meant living four lifetimes duelling Brandon every morning and being ridiculed by Callie at every interval, Jude was certain he would walk barefoot across the vicious mountain paths if it meant he didn't have to make this journey.

  
Twice Jude had struggled to retain this mornings meal.

  
Although he considered himself intelligent, a fact that Jude deemed true from the swamps of arguments he had won against his 'superiors', for the life of him Jude could not decipher why he was the one too suffer like this. He had never been openly aggressive, or been an embarrassment for his family (not this year at least). It was as if he was the pigeon in a nest of crows.

  
So why him? If Mike wanted a sure fire ally then why not send Callie or Brandon? They are adults grown, and offering them as a marital bargain would surely secure the Aryn's alliance with the Martell's. The Martell's had two grown children, Prince and Princess both. Callie or Brandon would have made glorious spouses for the two Dornish royals. Jude would not. Jude would be considered a dishonour on the Martell's if he was their choice for a marriage candidate.

  
Dumbfounded, Jude opened his leather satchel and reached for it's secret treasure. Toying with the blackthorn carved horse, Jude felt nostalgic. The horse was a Dothraki totem given to him from Lena on her second year of residence with him. To the Aryn's, the object was merely a wooden toy for children. Jude knew why they were wrong, Lena had explained it a short while after she gave it to him. Blackthorn was a powerful ally to the Dothraki people; the Bloodriders would weave their powerful bows from deep in the tree's offensive trunk, the Khal's would wear sigiled blackthorn amulets in their flowing manes as symbols of their prowess and favour with the Stallion. This totem however, was special. They were objects of great spirituality for the Dothraki Priestesses, a title owned by Lena's own mother. The blackthorn horse would be ever-present within the wooden Temples of the Stallion, as symbols of guidance and strength. They would be passed down from Priestess to Priestess on the day of their ascension. Meaning Lena was in line to be one.

  
Jude spent months trying to realise why Lena would give him such a powerful item of her culture. Until finally, like a turtle racing rabbit, he gave up trying. However there was lingering suspicion that the olive skinned woman had only given it to Jude due to her new found faith in the Seven.

  
Except now he knew the truth. Lena, even back then when her foreign lips could not grasp the delicate songs of the common tongue, she saw in Jude a shining purpose most magpies failed to glimpse. She saw a boy not yet tall enough to straddle a mule, who could one day ride a fierce stallion of his own. Obviously he would not ride with the Great Stallion himself, be he did not need too. Jude would ride no great beast into war, but he would ride horses great enough to labour the secrets and impossible trials he was bared.

  
The young Lord held the totem with a sacred grasp, as if letting it go the horse would begin to gallop off and reveal the many whispers Jude had told it.

  
"Horses tell no tales, and neither do any Gods." Jude reminded himself. "But people do."

 

 

_\|/_

 

 

 

For over a day the knights of the Vale had escorted the youngest Lord towards the coast. The road had become more and more treacherous as time past. Stones under the wheels became more regular, and the two horses pulling the carriage had almost been spooked into bolting when a minor landslide had occurred twenty metres in front of the group. This delay had cost the knights three hours to progress from, and much of their wavering calm.

  
Jude's impatient whines were not helping to save the mood, only causing more of a fire to be sparked in the attitudes of the escorts.

  
"You know, we still have the option to turn back." Jude called out of the carriage window.

  
"The only option we have is to get your skinny ass on that boat to Dorne by sundown. Or we're out fifty silver dragons." Answered the cranky knight. Completely uninterested in Jude's attempt to converse with him.

  
"I'm only worth fifty damn dragons?" The young boy moaned, "Commoners could win twenty _gold_ dragons if they duelled against Brandon and won." Jude was vexed. He knew his value would never amount to much in the eyes of his father, but a pitiful amount such as that was plain insulting. "It's like the old prick wants to find my body at the bottom of a gorge."

  
One knight, out of the six of their names Jude had refused to learn, sniggered at his joke. Jude heard.

  
"Fuck. It must be true then. Just leave my body here for the shadowcats to eat. Maybe the Hillclans will find my remains in time to use as a threat to my _dear father_."

  
The largest knight, who seemed to be the leader of the small band, glared at Jude. "The Hillclans would more than likely prefer to have some fun with your lifeless body first." Seeming to be the cheeriest of the squad, Jude had named him 'Sir Cuntington'.

  
The knight's statement had the desired affect. Jude had retreated back into the insides of carriage with no retort. Defeated, Jude decided it best to at least try and remain civil with his escorts.

  
After a short but tremendously awkward ride, Jude had fallen asleep. Travelling in the company of men who'd rather see him hung strung and quartered by savages than see him to be their high born superior, Jude was exhausted.

 

 

_\|/_

 

 

 

When he awoke the exterior of the land had changed dramatically. The wind was rigid and the merciless terrain of the mountain paths had re-emerged as ghastly trees baron of leaves torn bare by a bitter winter.

  
The knights outside were on edge, and the horses they rode had transformed from calm and orderly to fidgety and easily irritable. This was no country lane young girls frollocked through. This was the route used by shadowcats as they attempted to hunt their prey. This was the route surrounded by invisible tribesmen awaiting certain death from the Vale's ruthless attacks. Jude suddenly felt a familiar feeling. The feeling of being a lamb.

  
With a great desire to stop himself, Jude leaned his head from out of the slowly moving window.

  
"Get back inside boy." Ordered Sir Cuntington, "There are many dangers in these parts. Dangers that would undoubtedly rip you open and eat you, rape you, and rob you blind."

  
"Where are we?" Jude asked, feeling imaginary eyes all around him.

  
"Less than a four hour walk to the coast now my Lord. And I for one intend on reaching that harbour your father mentioned with my asshole perfectly free from tribal cock."

  
It was as if the trees all screeched at him. Horrible screeches caused by horrible beings veiled in the darkness the woods provided. Among the chorus of screeches sang no birdsong. The wind carried only the paranoid groans of men long since dead. Most likely murdered in every direction Jude looked.

  
Jude felt pity for the horses. The beasts had ventured out on this mission with such elegance Jude had found captivating. Now, their manes were brittle with the airs bitter clawing. Their nostrils flaring at every stagnant pool of water they were not allowed to drink from. The horses were just as on edge as their captors. Perhaps they had detected the scent of a nearby shadowcat?

  
In the supposedly safe cage of the carriage walls, Jude found himself becoming more anxious at every creek of tortured wood. At this point, they had less than four hours to go until they reached the safety of the harbour. One knight had mentioned that the Hillclans would not journey there, that their pressence would mean them certain humiliation and a great chance of a beating from the locals. The young Lord could only pray to the Stranger that the knight's hunch would be true. If only Jude listened as attentively to Lena's travelling prayers as he did to the birdsong in the servants keep.

  
Without thinking, Jude reached down for the Dothraki totem. "Okay great-horse-god-thing..." Very rarely praying himself, Jude found himself at a loss for words. The second time today. "Please. Just please let me get out of these woods. If you do that, I'll be brave okay? I'll be a warrior like I'm supposed too, I'll do whatever the fuck it is that I'm supposed to do in Dorne, I'll-"

  
Out of nowhere, Jude heard a heart stopping scream. A scream that the wind itself would not dare to carry. Running on unknown instinct and the childlike need to discover it's source, Jude leapt out of the carriage for the first time in over a day to meet the demon that could screech with such terror.

  
What Jude found was no demon, nor was it a great wind spirit halting his passage. His passage was being halted by one of the knight's horses, lying painfully on it's side deep in seizure while the knight underneath died in agony. A long thin arrow buried deep within the said horses neck.

  
And then, more screaming. The trees screamed as if their trunks were being uprooted to reveal legs thick and ready to battle. But it was no great tree warrior ready to fight, these were men and women armed with enough rusted axes and jagged sword to fight the Smith himself. These were screams the wind would carry with the utmost enthusiasm.

  
Suddenly Jude found himself being thrown against the carriage side. "Get in the fucking cart you stupid boy!" Sir Cuntington, longsword drawn and eyes never leaving the soon to arrive attackers, had positioned himself in front of Jude. Somewhere he could protect Jude and kill whomever felt brave enough to take him on.

  
The familiar sound of metal being crashed together rang through the woods. The Hillclan screamed and chanted threats to the knights as if they knew did not know they were easily outmatched in skill. The knights although few in number, would no doubt give the savages a brawler's classic for the wind to give music too.

  
Sword on sword, and axe hitting hard shield left Jude in a daze. These were no blunt swords Brandon would practice with. These wanted blood, and soon enough, blood is what they won.

  
One of Jude's escorts, a handsome knight who spoke little but fought fiercely, fell when a ghost of an archer's arrow made contact with his left eye socket. He didn't die quickly, he screamed violently in pain. More so when one, more sadistic invader found his dying body and began beating it with his hammer. It was an unfair kill, that of a toddler against a grape. A cowardly kill. But the first kill in this battle, and it was theirs.

  
The kill echoed through the Hillclan's invading battalion, somehow giving them a triumphant rush of power. As if the kill guaranteed them victory over the small group of Vale knights.

  
Enraged, the fallen knight's comrades sprang into form. Quickly avenging their brother's death and sending several of the attackers to agonizing deaths. "Come and get some you nasty inbred cunts! The next one to raise his godforsaken axe at me gets his head in his mothers arms!", cried one of the more vengeful knights.

  
No sooner had the threat been made, had the crazed attackers pounced on the man. His arrogance and invitation for trouble. Jude stared blankly at the surprise attackers as they began stabbing and slashing and smashing the knight's armour into contorted forms until the man wearing it had met a brutal death.

  
In the midst of the blood curdled chaos, Jude was awakened from his daze. A fur cloaked and bloodstained woman lunged towards him, screaming an cannibalistic cry as if she were a shadowcat. For a second, Jude thought she was. In the next, she was on top of him, smashing his body onto the cold hard floor as if he were a walnut she wanted open. By the feel of his forehead, she had managed that.

  
"Get the fuck off of him you dirt eating whore!" In a steel plated flash, Sir Cuntington had thrown the woman yards away from Jude and proceeded to kick and punch at her limp body with a wicked eagerness.

  
Tasting blood in his mouth, and his entire body aching from the banshee of a woman's assault Jude somehow found his feet and began to run. Where he was going, he did not know. Whoever was shouting for him to come back, he didn't recognise the voice. All he knew was how to run. Without hesitation he began to sprint towards the trees. With the grace of a one legged dear, he made it too the tree line in time for him to register the ringing in his ears, his fading vision, and the rusted knife digging into his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, but I had to get this right! So many roads to take after the first chapter and I decided to take this one! I am actually really proud at how this turned out!! Stay tuned for the next chapter, you're gonna love it!!
> 
> As always, Im -> Holdmypinkie 


End file.
